Chapter 433: The First Battle Victory’s Night
The camp was alive with celebration, the golden glow of countless campfires flickering like stars against the darkening sky. Soldiers laughed and cheered, their voices carrying through the air as they basked in the euphoria of their first victory. Hearty meals of roasted meat and fresh bread were passed around, their aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. Dice games were in full swing, with men betting their modest spoils of war, their faces lit by both firelight and the rare freedom of a night without immediate danger. Music flowed from a small group of soldiers who had unearthed instruments, their tunes weaving joyfully through the camp.
Lyan stood at the edge of the festivities, his sharp gaze taking in the scene. A rare smile tugged at his lips as he watched his soldiers. The victory had brought more than just tactical gains; it had lifted their spirits in a way that no speech or strategy could. These moments of respite were as vital as any maneuver on the battlefield.
The flickering light highlighted the calm confidence etched on his features, though his mind remained a fortress of calculation. He knew better than anyone that victories like these came with a limited window of safety. The Varzadian main army would take time to regroup, but once they did, the fight would escalate. For now, they had a chance to breathe, to prepare for the next step.
Drawing a deep breath, Lyan turned his thoughts to securing their position. He raised his hand, the subtle glow of mana enveloping it as he summoned his Acid Ants and Shadow Servants. They emerged soundlessly, their forms blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. The ants scattered into the underbrush, their movements precise and systematic, while the shadowy figures melded with the camp’s natural shadows, extending his watchful eye far beyond the immediate area.
(Sending your little friends again?) (Hestia)
(It’s necessary.)
(Always the cautious one. How... predictable.) (Hestia)
(That predictability keeps us alive, Hestia.)
Unbeknownst to Lyan, another figure moved silently beyond the camp’s boundaries. Abraham had slipped away, his experienced steps barely disturbing the forest floor. The old warrior’s sharp instincts guided him as he scouted the terrain, his keen eyes scanning for anything amiss. The terrain’s familiarity reassured him, but he never allowed himself to grow complacent. His movements were methodical, his mind a repository of years spent navigating hostile lands.
Back at the camp, Lyan adjusted his cloak and began walking toward the main tent. The path was quieter here, lined with sentries who saluted him as he passed. Ahead, the imposing figure of Vilgira Void stood at the entrance. his blackened armor gleamed faintly under the torchlight, his hand resting on the hilt of her blade. his presence was both commanding and unyielding, a sentinel guarding the prince and his trusted commanders.
"Baron Evocatore," Vilgira said, his tone flat but respectful as he stepped aside to allow him entry.